


Lost Souls

by rusty_armour



Category: JAG
Genre: Angst, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:55:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusty_armour/pseuds/rusty_armour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AJ struggles with the concept of retirement, while Webb teeters on the edge of self-destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written for a JAG/NCIS zine that didn't quite make it off the ground. It's my take on what might have happened to AJ and Webb in the final season and beyond.
> 
> © 2004

"My God, I've killed them."

I had one simple job to do and I'd messed it up already. The long striped leaves were turning brown and, in my experience, that wasn't a natural colour for spider plants. My eyes shifted involuntarily to the pictures on the mantelpiece. I was sure the freckled kid with the two missing front teeth was smirking at me.

"Shut up," I muttered. Then I shook my head in disgust. Great, AJ. Now you're talking to inanimate objects. You must be getting old. Or going crazy. I glanced at the photo again before going to the kitchen to find the green plastic watering can.

House-sitting for an ex-spook wasn't exactly how I'd pictured my declining years. When I had told everyone at JAG that my plans would be "pretty much in the air" after my trip with Francesca, I hadn't been kidding. Everything had been great when I was following a travel itinerary and had my daughter for company, but then I returned to McLean and my retirement officially began.

It wasn't so much that I was bored, for there were projects I'd been putting off for years, not to mention all the places I'd been meaning to visit in Virginia once I'd found the time. Well, I now had time in abundance, so that wasn't the problem. Something was missing and I couldn't figure out what it was.

I'm not sure what made me turn to Tim Fawkes. Although we had made some effort to keep in touch after Italy, neither one of us had really gone to any special effort. Maybe it was my memories of Laos, or maybe it was because Tim was retired too. Whatever the reasons, I made the right choice. Tim was on my doorstep an hour after I called and we discussed the matter over Chinese takeout.

He listened patiently as I explained my predicament, not interrupting once. Then he asked me what I was trying to accomplish now that I had retired, and I was shocked to realize that I didn't know. My only real ambition so far had been to visit every Major League baseball park in America, but once I had accomplished that goal, I'd made no other attempts at self-fulfillment. In fact, I hadn't felt a true sense of personal satisfaction since I'd left JAG. I found I missed the daily challenges and mental stimulation that came with the job.

After that initial meeting, we made a point of seeing each other at least once a week. Tim was always ready to lend a sympathetic ear. He even told me about his own struggles with retirement. He couldn't offer me any solutions, but that was okay. Just knowing that someone else understood made a difference. In the mean time, I would just have to muddle through, even if innocent house plants suffered in the process.

I returned to the living room, ignoring the boy on the mantelpiece. I stood in front of the dying plants and toyed with the idea of replacing them. Then I remembered who I was dealing with and knew Tim would work it out. I sighed and raised the watering can. That was when the doorbell rang. I put the watering can down on the coffee table and walked to the door.

I don't know who I was expecting to see on the other side. Maybe some guy in a trench coat. What I got was a refined lady in her golden years. Her blond hair was swept up in a bun and she wore an haute couture dress that would have instantly gained Francesca's approval. Tim, you've been holding out on me, I thought.

The woman started when she saw me, but quickly recovered her poise. I studied her closely, wondering why she seemed so familiar.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said. "I really should have called first." She flashed a polite smile and smoothed back her hair. "It didn't even occur to me that Tim might be away. I assume you're house-sitting for him as the average burglar doesn't answer the door."

I fished inside my pocket and pulled out the set of keys Tim had given to me. She inclined her head graciously, and I wondered if Tim had given her a set of keys as well.

"I don't suppose you have any idea when he might be returning," she said.

"Uh…" Tim had been pretty vague about the details.

"Let me guess. You don't know where he's gone or when he'll be back, but he promised to call you just as soon as he can."

I think my mouth must have fallen open because the woman looked amused.

"How-how did you know that?" I asked.

The woman smiled again, but there was a sad expression in her eyes. "I've heard that excuse from the men in my life for years. It never varies, never changes." She glanced over her shoulder at the Mercedes-Benz in the driveway. "I've taken up enough of your time. I really mustn't keep you any longer."

I took a step towards her. "It's no trouble, ma'am. Why don't you come in? I could make some tea or coffee."

"You're very kind, but I really must be going. Thanks for your help." She turned and started to walk towards her car.

"Please don't go, Mrs. Webb," I said.

The woman whirled around in confusion. "I'm sorry. Have we met?"

"Uh, no. Not exactly." In fact, I had only just recognized her. I'd seen a youthful version of Porter Webb on the mantelpiece. I had almost done a double-take when I'd seen the black and white photo because the man sitting beside her had looked remarkably like Clayton Webb. I might have been prepared to believe it was Clayton, instead of his father, if a much younger Tim hadn't been inside the frame as well.

"You're not a member of the intelligence community." Porter Webb was standing outside Tim's door again. Her forehead creased as she stared up at me. "Military?" she asked.

"Yes," I said, wondering what had given it away.

Her eyes were still focused on me. "Navy?" she ventured further.

I grinned. "Right again." I held out my hand. "AJ Chegwidden."

Porter Webb raised her eyebrows, but she returned the handshake. "_Admiral_ Chegwidden?"

"Actually, I'm retired." I ushered her into Tim's house, but instead of sitting down, she seemed more content to wander around the living room. I was suddenly reminded of her son's visits to my old office at JAG. "Can I get you anything, Mrs. Webb?" I asked.

"No thank you." She walked over to the bookcase and lifted a paperback from one of the shelves. "You sent me flowers when my son died -- both times."

I shrugged. "It was the least I could do, ma'am."

"They were very nice. Thank you." She returned the paperback to the bookcase and picked up a hardcover. "You helped rescue Tim from those terrorists."

"At your son's invitation, Mrs. Webb." I was surprised that she had heard about the mission. However, what she said next surprised me even more.

"You broke Clayton's nose in Russia."

I grimaced. "I was hoping he hadn't told you about that."

I glanced at Porter Webb to gauge her reaction, but she had moved from the bookcase. She walked across the room and plucked one of the photographs from the mantelpiece. Naturally, it was the one of the freckled kid with two missing front teeth. One finger touched the glass gently, almost tenderly. Then her hand flew to her mouth and I saw her tremble.

I closed the gap between us in about two seconds. "Hey, what's this?" I said. I pried the picture from her fingers and pulled her into my arms. She was still shaking and I knew that something was very wrong.

"I don't know how to help him," came the muffled voice from my chest.

"Who? Clayton?"

She nodded but seemed incapable of speaking. I released her from my arms and guided her to the sofa. She seemed to fall down rather than sit. I hovered over her for an instant then, not knowing what else to do, I went to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

"Thank you." She eyed me over the rim of the glass. "What you must think of me," she muttered.

I sat down on the sofa beside her. "I think you're a mother who's very concerned about her son."

Porter Webb lowered her glass, and I found myself subjected to her sharp scrutiny again. "Do you have any children, Admiral?"

I smiled. "It's AJ and, yes, I have a daughter. Francesca."

"Francesca," she repeated. "What a lovely name. You must be very proud of her."

"Yes, I am, Mrs. Webb." And you're changing the subject, I thought. I recognized the tactic because her son had used it on me a few times. I watched her take another sip of water before employing my own strategy.

"Can you tell me what happened?" I asked.

Porter Webb was staring down at the glass in her hands. "You've been so kind already. I don't wish to trouble you further."

"I'll feel more troubled if you don't tell me," I said.

Her gaze shifted to my face, but she still hesitated.

"Whatever it is I can handle it. I used to be a SEAL. I served in Vietnam--"

"My husband went to Vietnam and never came back," Porter Webb snapped. Then, flustered by her outburst, she sipped at her water again.

I touched her arm. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Webb. A lot of good men didn't make it back. It's a damn shame."

Her dark eyes widened in surprise. She stared at me openly, assessing me. Then she set her glass down on the coffee table.

"Clayton's been suspended," she said.

  

    
    
    *    *    *    * 

  
I think it took a full minute for her words to sink in.

"Suspended? From the CIA?"

"Where else?" she asked dryly.

"Webb? Clayton Webb?" I couldn't quite wrap my head around it. It just didn't seem possible. Oh, he had been demoted after the Angel Shark investigation, but he must have really pissed off his superiors if he'd been suspended.

"My God, what did he do?" I blurted out. Then I winced. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that."

"No, it's a perfectly valid question," Porter Webb said. She folded her hands in her lap, and I almost missed the slight tremor in her fingers. "The Deputy Director didn't go into specifics -- Kershaw never does -- but I have my suspicions."

"Suspicions?"

She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. "Harrison Kershaw has called me only once before, when Clayton…when Clayton returned from Paraguay. When I received a call from him today, I knew it had to be serious."

Her right hand was gripping the left one so tightly, that the knuckles had gone white. I found myself holding my breath, waiting.

"I think that Kershaw must have discovered that Clayton is an alcoholic," she said at last.

I released my breath in one long gasp. Now my head was really spinning.

"Are you sure?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Oh, yes. Quite sure." Porter Webb somehow managed a smile. "He hid it well, but then I started to see the signs," she said. "He wouldn't look well on Sunday mornings when we went riding. The first time, I thought he was coming down with something, but when he looked the same the Sunday after that I knew it was a hangover." She shook her head. "Naturally, I confronted him about it. He admitted that he had overindulged the night before, but that I shouldn't worry about it. He had just gone out with some colleagues from work. The next hangover was because he had had a rough week. I can't remember what excuse he used after that."

She reached for her water glass, and I grabbed it quickly, placing it in her hands. She took a long sip, as if her story had tired her out already.

"Did you confront Clayton again?" I asked.

She bit her lip. "I accused him of having a drinking problem, and he stormed out of the house. I didn't hear from him for two weeks after that, but then he apologized and said that he had been drinking too much. Apparently, Colonel MacKenzie had talked to him about it and had convinced him to stop."

"Mac?" I cried. "But she and Clayton broke up months ago."

"Yes, I know, but he did stop drinking when she asked." Porter Webb began fiddling with a loose stitch in the arm of the sofa, but I didn't need her narrative to know where this story was heading.

"But when they broke up, Clayton started drinking again." I had seen the pattern before. I also knew what kind of effect Sarah MacKenzie had on men. Her ex-lovers didn't fall back to earth with a thud; they crashed into the pavement.

"I had hoped that it was just his way of coping," Porter Webb said. "Despite what that young woman might believe to the contrary, Clayton did love her. When she left him, it broke his heart."

I might have shaken my head in disbelief, but I saw the pain in Porter Webb's eyes.

There was a time when I suspected that Webb didn't have a heart. When Harm dubbed him the "Tin Man," it somehow seemed appropriate. Then a desperate guilt-ridden Webb had shown up at JAG one day asking me to help him rescue Tim from Teresa Marcello. That's when I realized he had a heart.

"When the relationship ended did his drinking become worse?" I asked.

Porter Webb nodded, fighting back tears. I took her hand and squeezed it.

"I knew he had started drinking again when he began missing his Sunday visits altogether," she said. "He would claim that something had come up and he needed to leave the country." She sighed and closed her eyes. "But I knew that Clayton wasn't doing any work in the field. I checked." She gave a quiet laugh. "Clayton has never lied to me about anything outside of work before. Never." She must have noticed my skepticism because she frowned. "Well, he lied when he was a teenager, of course, but that was to be expected."

I smiled, grateful for once that I had missed Francesca's adolescent years.

"I tried to give him some space to sort out his problems," Porter Webb said, "but when he missed five Sundays in a row, I just couldn't bear it any longer. I went to his condo. He was drunk when I arrived." She paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "When I explained why I was there, he accused me of spying on him and interfering in his life. He told me that he was my son, not my husband, and that he was sick of playing the part of Neville Webb. He said I was suffocating him and…and that he hated me."

There was a slight quiver in her voice, and I tightened my grip on her hand. "Mrs. Webb, people often say things they don't mean when they're drunk," I said.

"Yes, I know, but at the time…I couldn't help it. I started crying. He had never spoken to me that way before. Ever. I was so afraid that what he said was true. But then he started crying and begged me to forgive him. He said that he hadn't meant it and that he loved me. Then he said that he didn't deserve to live and should have died in Paraguay." Porter Webb looked at me, her eyes full of tears. "I know he was drunk, but I think he may have meant it."

She tugged at her hand and I released it. A minute later I heard water running in the bathroom. I slumped heavily against the sofa cushions and wondered why life had to be so damn complicated.

When Porter Webb returned to the living room, she was the picture of composure. Only her red puffy eyes betrayed her. She didn't return to the couch, but stood in front of the mantelpiece staring at her son.

"No doubt, you think I'm a coward, Admiral," she said.

I stared at her in confusion. "No, I don't think anything of the kind."

"Then you should." She glanced at the photo of herself, Tim and her husband. "Neville would have never allowed this to happen. He wouldn't have stood by and watched our son destroy himself."

"Is that what you think you're doing Mrs. Webb?" I asked quietly.

She turned sharply from the mantelpiece. "That disagreement I just told you about was almost three months ago. I haven't had the courage to talk to Clayton about it since. And not because I'm afraid of another unpleasant scene, but because I'm afraid to lose him."

I leaned forward, my shins hitting the coffee table. "Why didn't you come here sooner? Tim would have talked to Clayton. He wouldn't have hesitated to help."

Porter Webb's eyes were suddenly drawn to the hearthrug, and I was surprised to see her blush. "It was pride. I didn't want to ask for his help."

"For God's sake, why? This is your son we're talking about!"

Porter Webb crossed her arms over her chest. "I've never forgiven Tim for recruiting Clayton into the CIA."

"What?" I almost managed to knock her water glass off the coffee table.

"I know Clayton would have found another mentor if Tim hadn't recruited him," she said. "And if Clayton had to join the CIA, I suppose I should be relieved that Tim was the man to train him. But as a mother, I'm incapable of viewing the subject objectively." She looked up, the hint of a smile on her lips. "I never wanted Clayton to go into the family business."

I stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece. "Mrs. Webb, if you didn't want Clayton to join the CIA then why does it matter to you that he was suspended?"

"Because it matters to Clayton," Porter Webb said. "His job has always been important to him, more so than ever since his relationship with Colonel MacKenzie ended." She frowned, her forehead creasing. "He didn't take the news of his suspension well. Apparently, he caused quite a scene." Her lips twitched. "Unfortunately, he inherited his father's temper."

Although I had never really seen Webb lose his temper, I had caught glimpses of it in his impatient outbursts or whenever he had snapped at anyone, his usual target being Rabb. Most of the time, he prided himself on being cool and in control. If he had gone so far as to cause a "scene," he had obviously been upset.

"Mrs. Webb, where is Clayton now? His place?" I asked. Fear flashed in Porter Webb's eyes and I had my answer. "You don't know where he is, do you?"

She shook her head miserably. "He's turned off his cell phone and I can't reach him. I've tried everywhere I can think of at least twice. I even sent Markov to Manderley in case he turns up there, but there's been no sign of him yet."

I didn't know what Manderley was, but I assumed it meant something to Webb. I tried to think of who he might turn to in a crisis. The obvious choices seemed to be his mother and Tim, but his mother couldn't find him and I was pretty sure he hadn't shown up at Tim's. I might have suggested checking with Mac, but she and Harm had left for London two weeks ago. Besides, I didn't think Webb was crazy enough to go to Mac for comfort. Bud had told me that all the men at JAG had almost resorted to wearing jock straps after Mac broke up with Webb, she was so down on men.

"Dammit, I wish there was a way to reach Tim," I said. "He'd probably have some idea where to look."

"Why do you think I came here? I was hoping he could help me track down Clayton." Porter Webb reached for the mantelpiece, clutching the edge as if she suddenly needed the support. The elegant lady I had greeted at the door now seemed old, frail and vulnerable.

I put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Webb, I may not be Tim, but I'm going to find your son."

"That's very kind of you, but I couldn't possibly--"

I jumped in quickly. "Sure you can. I just offered, didn't I?"

"But you must have things to do, other responsibilities, Admiral," she said.

I grimaced. "Other than collecting Tim's mail and killing his plants, I don't have any other plans tonight."

A brief smile flitted across her lips at my attempt at humour, though her expression remained guarded. "It won't be easy. Clayton's been trained to hide by some of the best agents in the business."

"Mrs. Webb, I was a SEAL. I've tracked men through miles of wilderness." I was sure that I was exuding confidence, but the woman still seemed doubtful. I decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. "I hope you'll forgive me for being blunt, but if Clayton's an alcoholic he's probably drunk right now and not thinking clearly. That means he'll be sloppy and leave a trail."

"Oh, do you think so?" There was a faint trace of optimism in her voice, and I knew I was close to breaking down her defences.

"Yes, I'm sure of it," I said. I placed a hand on her back and began leading her to the door. "Now, I want you to go home in case Clayton tries to call you, or decides to visit you in person."

Porter Webb looked up at me defiantly. "I've instructed my staff to inform me the instant they hear from him. I'd rather stay with you if you really believe you can find him."

I sighed and massaged the bridge of my nose. "Wouldn't it be better if you were there if or when he tries to contact you? He's going to want to hear your voice or see your face. For his sake, you need to be there."

"But if you find him and I'm not there--"

"Mrs. Webb, I'm afraid I'm going to have to be blunt with you again. Your son might not want to see you. I'm sure he won't want to see me either, but that's his problem not mine." I took her gently by the shoulders and looked directly in her eyes. "I promise to call you as soon as I know anything, which reminds me…" I took out my cell phone and Porter Webb gave me her number.

As I held the door open for her, she turned to me one last time. "You promise to call me no matter what happens? I don't want you to shield me from the truth. Even if Clayton's in the morgue or a jail cell, I need to know."

I gulped. "I'm hoping it won't come to that, Mrs. Webb, but you have my word. I won't hold anything back."

Porter Webb nodded and hopped on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "You're a good man, AJ Chegwidden. Thank you."

I grinned. "Well, thank you." I watched her walk down the driveway to her car and waved as she drove away. Webb might be heading into a nosedive, but he was damn lucky to have a mother like that.

  

    
    
    *    *    *    * 

  
Despite all of my assurances to Porter Webb, I had no idea where to find her son. I didn't even know where to start.

My first impulse had been to visit every seedy bar from Langley to Alexandria in search of a man in a three-piece suit, but that was a hell of a lot of ground to cover. I suddenly wished that Harm was still in town. Although his friendship with Webb had suffered some serious blows since Paraguay, Harm seemed to understand what made Webb tick. I needed that insight.

I pulled out my cell phone. I didn't have Harm's new number in London, but I had the next best thing. I called JAG and asked to speak to Coates. When I found out that she had left for the day, I tried her at home.

"Hi, Coates. It's AJ Chegwidden."

"Admiral! How are you? It's great to hear from you!"

I frowned. She sounded a little too perky, even for Coates. "Is everything okay, Petty Officer?" I asked. "If this is a bad time--"

"No, not at all, sir! It's just that…" She lowered her voice. "I've got an unexpected guest."

I was immediately on the alert. "Is this an unwanted guest, Coates?"

"Oh, no, it's not that, sir," she said quickly. "It's fine. In fact, he's very well-behaved considering…"

"Considering what?"

There was silence on Coates's end and then muffled voices in the background.

I gritted my teeth. "Considering what, Petty Officer?"

"Considering that he's drunk, sir," she said.

My eyes widened. No, it couldn't be. I knew it was impossible, but I had to ask.

"Uh, Coates, your unexpected guest wouldn't happen to be 5' 10" with dark hair, hazel eyes and an expensive suit, would he?"

Coates's voice was full of wonder. "How did you know, sir?"

My jaw dropped. "My God. You mean Webb really _is_ there?" It couldn't possibly be that easy. Nothing involving Webb was _ever_ that easy.

"I don't know what to do, sir," Coates whispered. "He showed up at my apartment when he couldn't find Commander -- sorry -- _Captain_ Rabb. Oh, sir, he didn't know that Captain Rabb and Colonel MacKenzie had moved to London or…"

"Oh, hell." This really wasn't Webb's day. "Listen, Coates," I said. "I want you to keep Webb there. Don't let him leave. I'm on my way."

I heard voices in the background again and what sounded like the word "cab" from Webb.

"Coates, under no circumstances are you to allow Webb to call a cab," I said, using my best command tone. "Just keep him distracted. I'm in Annandale, so it won't take me long to get to Washington."

"But, sir--"

I hung up on her, cutting off her protests. Then, remembering Porter Webb, I called her next. She was en route to Falls Church and fully prepared to turn her car around and head to Coates's apartment. I managed to talk her out of it by promising to keep her posted. I had started forming a plan of action and feared that her presence might jeopardize its success.

The sun was beginning to set as I walked to my car. I would be driving against traffic, so I was sure that I would make good time to Washington. However, I couldn't help worrying. I knew that Coates was good at running interference, but Webb was devious and might trick her. When I reached Coates's apartment, I was relieved when voices filtered out into the hallway. I heard Coates speak first.

"The Pierce Brosnan films are cool!"

"You're dreaming!" Webb said. "The _real_ Bond films ended with the Cold War!"

Coates was now clearly audible. "You are such a snob! Those movies are ancient! The special effects are crap!"

"Crap?" Webb sounded horrified. "Well, at least in the old movies they had SMERSH and the KGB. What has Pierce Brosnan got? The Russian Mafia? Please!"

I rolled my eyes and, against my better judgment, knocked on the door. It swung open immediately.

"It's great to see you, sir!" Coates said. She grabbed my arm and practically hauled me into her apartment. Webb was sitting in an armchair in the living room. He stared at me through glassy eyes.

"What's he doing here?" he asked Coates.

"I was looking for you," I said.

Webb glared at Coates. "You ratted on me? I thought you said we were friends? Of course, I thought that Harm and I were friends and look how that turned out." He rubbed his face and gazed at me blearily. His bloodshot eyes were the saddest I'd ever seen them.

"He left without telling me, AJ. How could he do that? I mean, I can understand Sarah not saying anything because she hates me now, but I never thought Harm would turn his back on me. Not like this. We've had our differences -- a lot of them, in fact -- but he always comes around in the end." Webb sighed heavily. "I guess he can't call unless he needs a favour."

"Oh, Mr. Webb, I'm sure that's not true," Coates said. She knelt in front of Webb, placing a hand on the arm of the chair. "Captain Rabb probably had every intention of telling you about his promotion and…everything else. It just happened so quickly. He must have run out of time."

Webb took Coates gently by the chin. "You're a very sweet girl," he said, his words sounding slurred. "You're a terrible liar and you have no taste in films, but you're a very sweet girl." He closed his eyes and his hand dropped from her chin.

"I have great taste in films and I'm probably not as 'sweet' as you think," Coates said. "I've done some things I'm not proud of."

Webb opened his eyes and smiled. "Haven't we all?" he asked. "Well, I doubt you'll be sent to hell for what you've done. I, on the other hand, have a first class ticket."

Coates glanced at me in alarm. Then she was scrambling out of the way as Webb launched himself out of the armchair. Webb teetered for a moment, before walking purposely to the door. I'm sure he would have made it, too, if I hadn't stepped in front of him.

"The only ticket you've got is a ticket home," I said.

Webb shook his head emphatically. "No…No, I've got to call a cab." He began to fumble in his pockets for his cell phone, but I grabbed his wrist.

"You've already got a cab. Me." I held him by the shoulders. "I'm taking you home."

Webb put a hand on my chest and tried to push me away. "I don't want to go home."

I tightened my grip. "Your mother's very worried about you, Webb. You're going home so that poor woman can get some sleep tonight."

Webb stopped struggling at once. "Mother's worried?" he asked. "Why? You didn't tell her I was here, did you?"

"Actually, I did. But that's not why she's worried." I paused, knowing there was no easy way to break the news. "Kershaw called her. He told her everything."

Webb's reaction was instantaneous. "That god-damn son of a bitch!" he shouted. "Why did he have to go dragging Mother into this? He had no right to do that!" Then Webb remembered where he was and glanced apologetically at Coates. "I'm sorry, Petty Officer."

Coates smiled brightly. "Oh, I've heard worse, Mr. Webb. Believe me."

Webb ran a hand through his hair. "I _really_ shouldn't be here," he muttered.

"Then let me take you home, Clayton," I said.

He dragged his eyes to my face and sighed. "Sure, AJ. Whatever you say."

I stared back at him in surprise. I didn't think he'd surrender that easily. He had to have something up his sleeve. Maybe he was planning to give me the slip.

"Well, are we going or not, AJ?" Webb demanded. He was making his way unsteadily for the door. I grabbed his arm before he could fall flat on his face or somehow manage to elude me. Then I turned to the petty officer.

"Uh, Coates…"

This time her look was sympathetic. "It's okay, sir. I'll keep this under my hat."

"Thanks," I said. I'm sure Webb…" I trailed off when I realized that Webb was shaking in a silent paroxysm of laughter. "What the hell's so funny?"

"Under her hat," Webb gasped. "If she keeps it under her hat, she'll be undercover!"

"Oh, God," I groaned. "You really are drunk."

Coates giggled and opened the door. "Good luck, sir," she said, fighting to keep a straight face. Then Webb saluted her, and Coates lost it again. I yanked on Webb's arm and we both stumbled into the hall.

"Good night, Coates," I called as Webb thoughtfully slammed the door behind us. Shaking my head, I followed Webb out of the building.

"What are your rates?" Webb asked as we approached my car.

"What?" I had been fishing for my keys and froze when I heard his question.

Webb leaned against the roof of the car. "For the taxi fare," he said. "You can't drive a taxi and not charge a fare."

I found my keys and unlocked the car. "My friends ride for free."

"Are we friends? I've never been sure." Webb reached for the handle on the passenger side and succeeded in opening the door on the second try.

I walked around to Webb's side of the car. "We've known each other for how long? Ten years? If we're not friends then I don't know what we are."

I watched Webb struggle with his seat belt for a minute then stretched across him to buckle it. I was so close to him that I could feel his breath on my neck and the warmth that was emanating from his body. As I drew back, I found myself momentarily caught up in Webb's eyes. Even glazed and bloodshot, I still thought they were one of his most compelling features. They often revealed those emotions that Webb tried to bury deep under the surface. I found they provided the most accurate measurement of his true feelings in any given situation. However, at the moment, I just saw confusion and a slight degree of embarrassment.

"Uh, AJ…"

I withdrew from the car and closed the door quickly. I didn't know what had happened, but I was sure there had to be a reasonable explanation. It could have been the strong whiff of alcohol that had been coming off Webb. I had probably just been disorientated. I gazed at Webb and found him staring at me curiously through the window. I turned around and pulled out my cell phone.

I called Porter Webb and gave her an update on her son, assuring her that I would look after him. Then I called my neighbour and asked him to take care of Dammit. I had a feeling that I wasn't going to make it home tonight and I didn't want my dog to go hungry.

  

    
    
    *    *    *    * 

  
Webb was surprisingly quiet during the trip to Alexandria. I thought he might continue to babble drunkenly, but he leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. At first, I thought he was still embarrassed about that moment of seat belt awkwardness. Then I began to suspect that he was trying to avoid a discussion about what was really bothering him.

"You better not fall asleep on me," I said. "I'm not carrying you to your condo."

Webb shifted but didn't open his eyes. "You can wake me up when we get there."

As I didn't have a suitable retort, I kept my eyes fixed on the road. I was able to hold my tongue until we turned on to the 395.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"No," Webb said.

I gave him a quick glance before changing lanes. "You'll feel better if you talk about it."

"No, I won't." Webb's head fell back against the headrest.

"You can't be sure unless you try," I said.

Webb's eyes flew open. "What's it to you, AJ? Are you looking for a reason to gloat or something?"

"Gloat?"

Webb laughed quietly. "Over the downfall of Clayton Webb," he said.

I whistled softly. "Downfall, huh?"

"Well, what would you call it? I've been suspended from the Agency, no doubt permanently, and I'm sure Mother has told you that she thinks I'm an alcoholic."

I raised an eyebrow. I couldn't help noticing his use of the phrase _she thinks I'm an alcoholic_. He really was in deep denial. I looked in the rearview mirror at the white Chevy pickup that was trying to pass us and realized that Webb was watching me.

"So when did you start cozying up to my mother?" he asked.

I nearly collided with the pickup and glared at him. I was tempted to tell him that he was a little old to be jealous of the men his mother got cozy with, but the 395 wasn't the time or place for a fist fight.

"It's a long story," I said instead.

Webb's eyes narrowed. "Yeah? Well, guess what. So's mine." He laid his head against the window and didn't speak again for the rest of the journey.

I didn't have to wake Webb when we arrived at his condo. He was unbuckling his seat belt before I could hit the brakes. His door was open before I had pulled the key out of the ignition. I was about to tell him to stay put while I paid for parking, but he was already walking across the underground lot.

"Webb!"

He turned to look over his shoulder. "Good night, AJ," he called. "Thanks for the ride." He waved cheerfully and weaved his way to the elevator.

I wavered for a second, torn between the parking meter and Webb. I couldn't stand the thought of having another car towed, but I knew how sneaky Webb was and I didn't dare let him out of my sight. I slammed my car door shut with a curse and ran to catch up with him. If the car got towed, I'd drag Webb down to the impound lot. If my car got shot up in another drug bust, Webb could buy me a new one. Hell, the guy was loaded. There was enough money in the family coffers to pay for it.

"Webb!" I reached the elevator before the doors closed and leaped inside. Webb staggered backwards, almost hitting his head against the wall. Then he righted himself and feigned indifference.

"Is this part of the service?" he asked.

I crossed my arms and stared him down. "Cut the crap, Webb. We both know why I'm here."

Now he looked bewildered. "We do?"

The elevator doors opened, and I took Webb by the elbow. He immediately shook off my hand and lurched into the hallway.

"I know how to walk, thank you," he said.

I nodded, trying not to grin. "Okay, then go ahead."

Webb sniffed indignantly and just managed to avoid a collision with the nearest wall. I was impressed when he managed to walk a straight line almost all the way to his door.

"Look, AJ, this little piggy made it all the way home," he said. He dove into his trouser pocket and pulled out his key-ring. "Unless you're waiting for a tip, now would be a wonderful time to piss off." Webb raised a key to the keyhole and missed it entirely. Swearing under his breath, he tried again. This time he hit the keyhole, but the key didn't go in the lock. He was about to make a third attempt, when I plucked the key-ring from his hand and opened the door for him.

The first thing my eyes fell on was the fireplace. Then I took in the bookshelves, the black and white photographs on the wall, the piano, the black leather couch and the aquarium. The décor was attractive but masculine.

"Nice place," I said.

Webb studied me warily. "Thanks. I'll be sure to invite you over some time."

"How about now?" I walked over to the leather couch and sat down.

"AJ--"

"We need to talk," I said. "Why don't you sit down and make yourself comfortable?"

Webb was still standing at the door, hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at me sullenly. "I don't know what Mother said to you, but--"

"She's scared to death," I said.

Webb snorted. "Mother doesn't scare easily. She blew away an assassin last year without blinking an eye."

My own eyes widened in surprise before I could cover the reaction. "We're not talking about an assassin, Clayton. We're talking about her son. Even the bravest people in the world get scared when their children are in danger." I drew in a sharp breath. "When Francesca was kidnapped, I almost lost my mind."

Webb crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm not in danger."

"Aren't you?" I asked. "You seem intent on flushing your life down the toilet."

Webb's jaw tightened. "This isn't your problem, AJ."

"The hell it isn't. When a friend is poisoning himself to death then I think it's my problem."

Webb's eyes swept the ceiling. "So I had a few drinks. It's a free country. I can get drunk if I want to."

"Getting drunk is one thing," I said. "Being an alcoholic is something else entirely."

"An alcoholic?" Webb laughed a little too forcefully. "I never realized that Mother was prone to exaggeration until tonight."

I stared at him in disbelief. I had expected denial, but not this. His mother had been deeply distressed. I knew she hadn't been exaggerating. I stood up and looked around the room.

"What are you doing?" Webb asked.

I ignored him. I had spotted the liquor cabinet. I moved over to it swiftly and started pulling out bottles. I could hear Webb's shoes click on the hardwood floor as he crossed the room, but that didn't stop me.

"Just because someone owns a liquor cabinet…" Webb's voice trailed off when he saw what I was holding in my hand. It had been stashed at the very back of the cabinet, and by the look on Webb's face I could see that he hadn't wanted anyone to find it.

I had never tasted conya myself, but I had heard one or two stories. It might have been branded as rot-gut if it were any less stylish or expensive.

"My God, Clay, are you trying to kill yourself?"

Webb didn't answer. He was starting to back away from me.

"Is this what you were drinking when you were with Mac?" I demanded. She had worked hard to remain sober, and I hated the thought of her being within ten feet of the stuff.

Webb's eyes were full of fury. "Get out."

"No, I'm not leaving until we've talked," I said. I put the bottle of conya on top of the liquor cabinet and fixed him with a hostile glare of my own. He staggered to the leather chair adjacent to the couch and put his head in his hands. I gave him a minute then sat down.

"Why do you do it? Are you in that much pain, son?" I reached out and touched Webb's knee. He flinched.

"Don't, AJ." He still hadn't lifted his head from his hands. I pulled away from him, giving him some space, but that was the only mercy I was prepared to grant.

"Most people start drinking because they're trying to escape from something," I said. "What are you trying to escape from, Clayton?"

"You wouldn't understand," Webb whispered.

"Try me. You might be surprised."

Webb shook his head, saying nothing.

I wanted to spare him from this, but I didn't have that luxury. "Is it Sadiq? Do you drink to keep the nightmares away?"

Webb's hands flew from his face, his eyes wide in panic. If he were sober, I think he would have bolted from the chair.

I remained completely still, speaking in a calm level tone. "I was in Nam, remember? I've had my own share of nightmares and flashbacks." I frowned. "I've also had my share of nights wrapped around a bottle. I never succumbed to alcoholism, but I know a number of vets who did."

Webb was now staring down at his hands. "It's not the same."

I knew I was treading into dangerous territory, but I said it anyway. "Tell me what it's like, then."

Webb's hands curled into fists. "I can't."

I took a deep breath and prepared myself for his reaction. "Sure you can," I said. "If you survived the experience, you can tell me about it."

Webb shot out of his chair and loomed over me for the first time in his life. There was a flash of hatred in his eyes, and for five full seconds I was actually afraid of him. Then the hatred was gone and he was sitting back down in his chair.

He told me about Paraguay. He shared every excruciating detail. Things I'm sure he never told Mac, or the Agency shrink. And certainly not his mother. While a part of me wanted to beg him to stop, I found I could only listen in horrified fascination. When he had finished, he was pale, shaking and painfully sober. He didn't have to ask. I grabbed the bottle of conya from the top of the liquor cabinet and poured him a drink. Then I pushed the glass into Webb's trembling hand, trying not to wince when he downed most of the conya in one shot. I crouched in front of his chair, forcing Webb to focus beyond his haze of misery.

"Clayton, you need help."

Webb's response was automatic. "I've already had some. It's SOP."

I put my hand on his knee and this time he didn't flinch. "They obviously didn't do a very good job, or it wasn't enough," I said. "Did you tell the shrink everything you just told me?"

Webb stared at me as if I had two heads. "And be tossed into some psych ward? I don't think so!"

I held back a sigh. "Maybe you should go outside the Agency for help."

Webb jerked as if he'd been slapped. "Are you crazy? Half of what I just told you is classified," he said. "Even if I _could_ share the information, do you think anyone outside the CIA could handle it? Christ, AJ, you're a SEAL and you headed straight for the liquor cabinet!" He started laughing. "And you think you can help me? God help us all!"

He drained the rest of the conya then threw his glass on the floor. I jumped back from the chair in surprise, and Webb took the opportunity to squeeze past me.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" I demanded.

Webb yawned. "To bed. Good night, AJ."

I turned and followed him to the staircase. "We're not done here."

Webb rested his hand on the banister. "Oh, I think we are," he said.

I closed the distance between us and seized Webb's arm before he could mount the stairs.

"Let go of me." Webb pulled his arm free, but I grabbed a hold of it again. "Don't touch me," he growled.

"Why? Afraid I'm going to ask you to dance?" I asked.

He scowled at me for a moment, but then the frown was gone and he treated me to his most arrogant and self-satisfied smirk: the Webb brand of warpaint. "I know you must be lonely after your fiancée shafted you for that Italian professor, AJ, but I'm not on the market."

Before I realized what was happening, my fist had smashed into Webb's face. His legs crumpled under him and he finally made it to that first step on the staircase. I hadn't broken his nose this time, but his left cheek was red and some blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Okay, you can leave now," he said.

  

    
    
    *    *    *    * 

  
He was gazing up at me expectantly, as if he really believed I would go. I seized him by the lapels and pinned him against the wall.

"You son of a bitch! Have you been spying on me?" I shouted.

Webb smiled smugly. "Well, spying is a big part of my job description."

"No, it _was_ a part of your job description. Past tense," I hissed. "You're an ex-spook now, Webb. They kicked you out because you're a stinking fall down no good drunk. You rang the bell. You fucked up."

I released his lapels and took perverse pleasure in watching him slide down the wall to that first step again. Now I was ready to go. I was halfway to the door when Webb made me freeze in my tracks.

"I wasn't spying on you," he said. "Sarah was worried about you after you broke up with Meredith, so I told her I would look into it."

I spun around in alarm. "Mac knows about this?"

Webb shook his head frantically as I moved towards him. "No, AJ, she doesn't know. I told her that you were the one to call off the wedding, and that it had been the right decision. When Sarah pressed the issue, I just said that Meredith wasn't good for you and you were better off without her." Webb raised a hand to his left cheek gingerly, and I couldn't help wondering if his opinion had changed. As usual, he managed to surprise me. "If she was too stupid to see how special you are then she deserved to lose you," he said.

I gazed directly into Webb's eyes, but I couldn't detect any sign of deceit. I cleared my throat gruffly. "You could have told her the whole story, Webb. Why didn't you?"

Webb licked his lips nervously. "I thought that if you wanted her to know, you would have told her. It wasn't any of her business otherwise."

I eyed him skeptically. "What's the _real_ reason?" I asked.

Webb leaned against the banister wearily. "I was afraid that if Sarah knew the truth, she would do something stupid, like try to comfort you," he said. "And I knew that if she did, you'd hit the roof."

"Damn right I would."

Webb nodded. "And if that had happened, it would have upset Sarah."

I lowered myself down on my haunches, so that I was at the same level as Webb. "You really did love her, didn't you?"

Webb's lips twitched. "I know this will come as a shock to you, AJ, but, yes, I did love her." He looked as if he were about to say more, but hesitated a moment before speaking. "I still love her," he said. "I wish I could make it stop."

I patted his shoulder. "I'm not sure if you can, Clayton."

Webb smiled sadly and I realized that he had come to the same conclusion. He reached for the banister, and we both stood up. Then I was holding him as he nearly fell from the first step.

"Whoa! Easy does it. I've got you," I said. I waited until Webb had regained his balance, and was clutching the banister for support, before I released his shoulders. I found myself staring at his swollen left cheek. "Why did you have to shoot your mouth off like that? You must have known what my reaction would be."

Webb's eyes shifted from my face. "I wanted you to let go of me," he said.

I snorted. "And that was the best solution you could come up with?"

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm drunk, AJ. I'm not exactly thinking too clearly at the moment."

"Could have fooled me," I muttered. Then, in a louder voice, I said, "We should get you some ice."

Webb waved off my concern. "I've had worse. Don't worry about it."

"As I'm the one who inflicted the damage, I think I'm entitled to worry." I craned my neck and located his kitchen. "I'll be right back. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"I'll do my best," Webb said.

I swear it took less than two minutes to empty the ice cube tray into a dish towel and crush the ice and, yet, Webb wasn't on the stairs when I returned to the living room. For a split second, I thought he might have pulled a runner, but then I remembered his clumsy footsteps on the hardwood floor, and the way he had slammed Coates's door, and knew that he wasn't sober enough to be that stealthy. My eyes flicked back to the stairs, and I decided it was time for a tour of the rest of the condo.

I found him in the bathroom studying his face in the mirror. I wasn't sure if he had noticed that I was standing out in the hall, but then he held out his hand for the ice-pack.

"You just don't give up, do you?" Webb said.

"What do you think?" I stepped into the bathroom and passed him the dish towel. He pushed down the toilet seat and sat down. He closed his eyes and groaned when the ice made contact with his cheek.

"Oh, that feels so good."

I bit my lip, trying to understand what had caused my stomach to do that funny little flip. God, if Webb was starting to turn me on, I was obviously a lot more desperate than I thought.

"You look just about done in," I said, fighting to keep the huskiness out of my voice. "You should go to bed."

"Uh, that was the general idea before you punched me," Webb said. "Off to my cold empty bed."

I gulped. "Amen to that, brother," I mumbled.

Webb lowered his ice-pack and grinned. "Why, AJ, I never would have expected that from you. I would have thought they'd be lining up around the block now that Meredith's gone."

I glared at him. "What about you? I don't see anyone new in your life."

The grin faded. "Sarah's a pretty hard act to follow," he said. "I'm not sure if any woman can fill her shoes. Hell, I'm not sure if I want anyone to try." He raised the ice-pack to his cheek again, but this time I only heard a relieved sigh. I sat down on the side of the bathtub.

"Your mother says that you stopped drinking when Mac asked you to."

Webb shrugged noncommittally. "Sarah didn't like it and…" Suddenly he blushed and lifted the dish towel a little higher.

"And…?" I pressed, not letting him off the hook that easily.

"And…and, God, this is embarrassing," Webb said.

"And sitting in your bathroom discussing your love life isn't?" I snapped.

"Good point." The ice was starting to drip, so Webb put the towel in the sink. "I realized that I didn't need to drink when I was with Sarah. She…she helped keep the nightmares away. When I was lying in her arms, I felt safe. It was as if nothing could hurt us." Webb's gaze drifted to the tiles behind my head. "I guess that must sound really pathetic."

"No, I don't think it's pathetic," I said. "Marcella used to hold me when the memories of Nam got too close, and it made me feel pretty much the same way."

Webb raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Contrary to what you might believe, it's perfectly normal to seek comfort from your partner. It's only human."

"Human, huh?" Webb gave a bitter laugh. "I'm not sure I even know what that is anymore."

I leaned forward, resting my hand on his knee. "Oh, I think you know."

Webb stared at me, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"I think Sadiq forced you to confront your humanity, and you haven't been able to deal with it since," I said. "You tried to bury it so you could go back to being the perfect spy. When that didn't work, you decided to drown it instead."

Webb threw up his hands in exasperation. "God, I should have known it would come back to that!"

I tried to keep some semblance of patience in my voice, but I couldn't prevent the sarcasm from slipping out. "If by 'that' you mean your drinking then, yes. It's come back to 'that'. Tonight has been all about 'that'."

Webb's expression grew darker. "Fine. I'll make it easy for you, AJ." Webb rose from the toilet, holding the sink for support when his legs wobbled. "Hello, my name is Clayton and I'm an alcoholic," he said. "There. I've said it. You can go home now." He walked past me and out of the bathroom.

"Where are you going now?" I called, still sitting on the edge of the tub. I wasn't sure if I'd get an answer. Then Webb's head popped in the door.

"To bed," he said. "To bed where I hope to fall into an alcoholic stupor and wake up with a massive hangover in the morning. Good night, AJ."

I stared at the door angrily. I hadn't really expected Webb to admit that he had a drinking problem, but it was frustrating all the same. I could only hope that I had given him something to think about, and that he was one step closer to realizing the truth.

  

    
    
    *    *    *    * 

  
I was sure that Webb would lock his bedroom door, so I was amazed when the knob turned freely in my hand. The room was much like the rest of Webb's condo, with its dark colours and subdued lighting. The only thing that surprised me was the bed. For some reason, I had imagined a four poster bed, complete with a canopy and curtains. Instead, I found a queen-sized bed covered with a patchwork quilt. A burgundy afghan was draped over the end.

"Is there some reason why you're still here?" Webb asked. He had removed his tie and was now sitting on the side of the bed, trying to untie his shoelaces. Unfortunately, he was having trouble keeping his balance.

"I thought you could use some help." I walked over to the bed and knelt down to remove Webb's shoes and socks.

"I've been dressing and undressing myself for several years now," Webb grumbled.

"Bully for you." I stood up to help Webb with his suit jacket, but he held up a hand.

"I can manage," he said stubbornly.

"Sure, when you're sober."

Webb shot me a dirty look then proceeded to get his arm stuck in the sleeve of his jacket. "Dammit," he mumbled. He struggled with it for a few seconds more then I put my hands on his shoulders.

"Calm down." I liberated his arm from the sleeve and pulled off the jacket. He stiffened when I began to unbutton his vest. "You know, I think I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality to help another man get undressed," I said, hoping to ease the awkwardness of the situation.

"Oh, yeah?" Webb countered. "Well, I've never had any problem with either sex undressing me."

My hands stilled on the buttons, and Webb blushed a lovely shade of crimson.

"I can't believe I just said that," he gasped.

I released the breath I'd been holding. "I can't believe it either."

Webb grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think I'm starting to understand why so many people drink alone."

I couldn't help smiling at Webb's predicament. "This does explain a lot," I said, before I could stop myself.

Webb's forehead creased. "What do you mean?"

"I knew there had to be some reason why you kept doing favours for Rabb." I had meant it as a joke, but then realized that there was some truth in the matter when Webb put his head in his hands. "Oh," I said. I freed the last button of his vest. I tried to pull the vest off him, but Webb squirmed out of my grasp. "Why are you so afraid to let me touch you, Clayton?" I asked. "What do you think is going to happen?"

Webb looked up at me with a helpless, almost anguished expression. Then he stood and we were only inches apart. Suddenly my heart was pounding, and a trickle of sweat rolled down the back of my neck. Webb swallowed nervously. "Hell," he whispered, before he cupped my face in both hands and drew me down for a kiss.

Although I knew we'd been heading in this general direction, it was still a shock to feel his lips pressed against mine. I had never kissed a man before and had assumed Webb's lips would be hard and demanding, but they were soft and more tender than I had anticipated. Webb gently took possession of my bottom lip, exploring, seeking a response. I was about to give him one when the need for oxygen prevailed and I was forced to break the kiss. Webb's hands dropped from my face and he sank back on the mattress like a puppet that had lost its strings.

"Assuming that you're not planning to kill me instantly, would you mind punching me on the other cheek this time?" Webb said. "That way the bruises will balance out."

I grabbed Webb's vest and hauled him back on his feet. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he moaned as I kissed him. I wasn't gentle. I seized his hips roughly and crushed him against me. I attacked his lips with punishing force. He gasped and I thrust my tongue deep inside his mouth.

This was crazy. I couldn't want Webb. Sure, I had been drawn to him, but it had been in the same way that some people are drawn to accident scenes on the Beltway. It wasn't sexual attraction, was it? Any meeting with Webb in the past had been against my better judgment. And, yet, I couldn't ever remember denying him an appointment or barring him from my office. Even when I had threatened him with violence, there had been some kind of spark. Once I had been forced to back off during an argument because I had had the irresistible urge to wipe that smirk off Webb's face with my lips instead of my fist.

Oh, God, I really did want him.

I'm not sure how much time passed before we were forced to draw air back into our lungs. Webb's head was resting against my shoulder, his arms circling my waist.

"This isn't really you, is it, AJ?" he asked. His voice sounded small and not like Webb's at all. I might have been tempted to pose the same question to him, but I wanted to give him an answer first.

Releasing myself from his embrace, I took his hand and guided it to my erection.

"This is definitely _me,_ Clayton," I said.

Webb gulped. "Uh, yeah, I can, uh, see that."

I lowered my lips to his ear. "So what are you going to do about it?"

Webb's eyes widened and he stared at me blankly for a few seconds. Then a little smile played on his lips, and he reached for the hem of my t-shirt. He yanked it up and over my head in one swift motion, before running his hands feverishly over my chest. His tongue swiped across my skin, laving a nipple. I jerked in stunned delight and grabbed a hold of Webb's vest, finally wrenching it off his body.

I tugged his shirt from his pants and was working on the buttons, when he fixed his sights on my khakis. He tried to bat my hands away, so he could get at my fly, but I wanted to catch at least some glimpse of skin and was determined to remove his shirt. We ended up toppling over on the bed.

I just had time to kick off my loafers when Webb pounced. He straddled my legs and his fingers were no longer clumsy as he undid the button of my khakis and unzipped my fly. Then his hand was working its way under the band of my briefs, brushing against my pubic hair. I hissed through my teeth when he ran a finger along my cock.

"I would like to go down on you," Webb said. "Would that be okay?"

I nodded dumbly and lifted my hips as he pulled down my pants and underwear. He was so thorough, he even removed my socks. I lay there, dazed and exposed, wondering how I could be completely naked when he was still wearing most of his clothes. The man had too many damn layers, both figuratively and literally. The man was now openly appraising me with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

I fought a momentary wave of panic as he pried my knees apart and crawled between my legs. Forcing myself to breathe, I watched him descend to my erect cock. He licked the head and I bucked wildly.

Webb laughed and held down my hips. "Whoa, there, big fella! Don't ride off into the sunset without me!"

"Dammit," I growled. "You little--"

Webb blew across the head this time and a loud whimper pushed its way past my throat.

"It's been a long time for me too," Webb murmured, kissing the inside of my thigh. "I'll make it good, AJ. I promise."

"Just make it something," I said hoarsely. "And fast."

Webb grinned up at me then latched on to my penis with his teeth.

"Christ!" I shouted, lifting off the bed. Webb placed both hands firmly on my pelvis and pushed me down on the mattress. His tongue covered every inch of me, sweeping up and down my cock in long slow swipes. I moaned and my fingers clutched the quilt when his mouth enveloped me and he took me deep inside his throat.

My penis was hard and throbbing. Webb's lips were maintaining a constant and steady suction. With every second the pressure seemed to increase. Sweat was beading my brow and my heels were digging into the mattress. I was so close. So damn close.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I felt two fingers prod my ass.

Oh, God, he wouldn't, I thought. He couldn't.

Two fingers parted my cheeks and rammed into my anus. I threw back my head and howled my release.

When my body had given its last shudder, I lay, spent, chest heaving madly. I cracked open my eyes and found Webb in my field of vision.

"Was it good for you?" he asked, with just the trace of a smirk.

I took him by the shirt collar and pulled him on top of me. My tongue probed his mouth and I tasted seed. Where the hell had Webb learned to give head like that? Had he gained this experience on the job? If he had I might have to change my opinion of the CIA.

"I don't know if I can compete with that," I said when the kiss ended.

Webb rolled off me. "Don't worry about it. I'm probably not sober enough to appreciate it, anyway." He stretched out beside me, tangling his fingers in my chest hair. I took his hand and grasped it tightly.

"I just don't think I'm ready," I said.

Webb kissed me gently on the lips. "It's okay, AJ."

I reached up and brushed some hair off his forehead. Then I flipped us over so that I was on top of him. I stared down at his startled face for an instant then began nibbling on his neck. Webb gave a breathy sigh. I licked my way to his collarbone and bit down. Webb gasped this time, his body stirring beneath me. His erection was jutting into my hipbone. I reached down and unbuttoned his pants.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I kissed his shoulder. "Returning the favour."

Webb pulled out from under me, sitting up on the mattress. "That's something Rabb would say. I expected more from you."

I quickly hoisted myself up. "I'm not Rabb," I said. "It was just a bad choice of words. This is more than just returning a favour. I _want_ to do this." I laid my hands on his stiff shoulders, trying to massage away some of the tension. Webb slumped against me, his body slowly relaxing.

"What is 'this'?" he asked.

One hand slid from his shoulder, and my arm snaked around his waist. I reached down to cup his groin. He immediately tensed, but I kept my hand where it was.

"Shh." I slowly eased him back against the pillows. Then I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, prying the garment off him. I nuzzled his chest, tweaking his left nipple. He moaned, his eyes closing. Then I was sucking that same nipple, running my hands along his ribcage. He jerked, moaning even loader. My gaze fell on his crotch and I unzipped his fly.

"Lift your hips," I ordered. Webb obeyed and I pulled his pants off him. Finally, he was naked too. I thought this might unnerve him, but he seemed to accept it calmly enough. He was just curious.

"I thought you weren't interested," he said.

"No, I said that I didn't think I was ready to give you a blow job. This…Well, this is more familiar territory." I traced a finger over Webb's cock and he shuddered.

"You've done this before?" Webb asked breathlessly.

"Uh huh." I trailed my finger back the other way and this time he bucked.

"N-Nam?"

"No, the Farragut," I answered, naming the first ship I had served on. I wrapped my hand around Webb's cock and squeezed.

"God," Webb groaned, tossing his head to the side.

"Look at me," I said.

Webb swept his head back around, his eyes glazed by both alcohol and lust.

"You are going to look at me the entire time. I want to see your eyes when you beg me to come."

"B-beg?"

I stroked the tip of his penis with my thumb, eliciting a whimper. "Say please, Webb."   
I fisted his cock and began to pump it slowly. Webb's eyes slipped shut. "Keep your eyes on me!" I yanked his shaft, and Webb cried out.

He was panting now, his fingers clawing the mattress. It was a struggle, but he kept his eyes glued to my face. "Please, AJ. Oh, please," he gasped.

"Please what, Webb?" I asked.

"Faster," he said. "Harder. I need it harder."

I increased the speed I had set. Webb writhed, thrusting his hips. His mouth was slack, his pupils wide.

"Make me come," he whimpered. "Oh, please, please make me come."

I gripped his cock tighter and pumped even faster. Webb thrashed beneath me, his whole body shaking.

Although Webb didn't want me to return any favours, I thought that revenge was only fair. I drove a finger into his anus, imitating the rhythm I had set on his cock. About thirty seconds later, his back arched and he climaxed with a long drawn out sob of pleasure.

Webb was drifting off when I returned from the bathroom with a wash cloth. However, he smiled sleepily when I wiped the semen off his legs and belly.

"And you thought you couldn't compete," he murmured.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I even surprise myself." I threw the cloth in the laundry hamper and scooped up the afghan from the end of the bed. Lying down beside Webb, I tucked the afghan around both of us. I saw that Webb was still on his back, so I nudged him with my elbow. "Come on, you'd better sleep on your side," I said. "You wouldn't want to choke on your own vomit if you throw up."

Webb groaned but turned on his side. Then he was right up against me, a hand resting on my chest. I hesitated a moment then wrapped my arm around his shoulders. I would never have admitted it to anyone, but I had missed having someone to hold at night.

"Good night, Clayton," I said.

"Night, AJ," came the drowsy response. I smiled and closed my eyes, but then Webb spoke again. "AJ…"

"Yes?"

"There's something you should know about me," he said. "I, uh…snore."

"Yeah? So? I snore too sometimes. What's the big deal?"

I thought Webb wasn't going to answer at first, but then he mumbled something about "stupid Marines" and snuggled even closer.

"Go to sleep," I said.

"Hmm." I was sure that was the last I'd hear from him, but a minute later he was whispering in my ear. "AJ…"

"Yes?" Please don't tell me you drool as well, I thought.

"I lost my soul in Paraguay and I don't know how to get it back."

My eyes flew open and I was too stunned to know what to say. Then I was pressing my lips against his forehead and rubbing his back.

"We'll find it, Clay," I said. "If it's still out there, we'll find it."

  



End file.
